


Ryil's Water

by Bofur1



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Dwalin Angst, Flashbacks/Hallucinations, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Past Character Death, Water, Why Can't I Write Happy Things?, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:10:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A life so young released to heaven,<br/>Left on Earth we wonder why<br/>Some are sent among us briefly,<br/>Some have Spirits meant to fly.<br/> </p><p> <br/>[Also known as: The reason why Dwalin is screaming so vociferously as his barrel races through the river. Desolation of Smaug trailerverse.]<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Ryil's Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kili99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kili99/gifts).



“C’mon, Dwalin, you’re being so lazy! Hurry up!”

Thirty-one-year-old Dwalin grinned up at his redheaded friend, a son of Man named Ryil, who was scaling the large boulders by the river just outside town. The two had been impatient to explore, and after some expert begging for their parents they were finally given permission.

“Accusing a child of Mahal of sloth is a crime worth being beheaded!” Dwalin declared as he clambered in bear-like fashion after his companion.

“Well, I’m a child of Ilúvatar, and he’s the ruler of _everything_!” Ryil boasted. “So you can’t behead me!”

The boys’ banter was good-humored; they didn’t pay much mind to competition between the Fathers of the Races. Men were Men, Dwarves were Dwarves. There wasn’t much difference.

“Except that we’re taller,” Ryil would tease whenever the subject did arise.

“We’re stronger,” Dwalin would reply nonchalantly. Then they would race off again to prove who truly was. This was Ryil and Dwalin’s way.

“Whoa...Dwal’, you have to see this,” Ryil said now as he reached the top, his voice filled with awe.

“What, what is it?” Invigorated by curiosity Dwalin scrambled up the last rocks and stood at his friend’s side. “By Durin,” Dwalin whispered reverently. “That is pretty.”

As the rising sun cast her warmth on the gently waving trees, the shafts of light that sifted through the leaves acted as a prism on the surface of the wide river. The rushing waters foamed and sparkled with the crisp freshness of the early morning.

Ryil closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Then he turned to Dwalin and grinned mischievously, the amazement vanished simply as that. “Let’s look for mica in the rocks down there!” Nimbly he leapt down and landed on the riverbank below.

“Aw, mica’s for the Dwarrowlings,” Dwalin scoffed. “I want to find gold!”

“I thought Dwarves liked all shiny things,” Ryil answered as he crouched to examine a small rock.

Dwalin shrugged his broad shoulders. “We do. But _valuable_ shiny things are even better.”

“Maybe there’s gold in the bottom of the river,” remarked Ryil, studying the rushing waters. He looked over his shoulder at Dwalin. “Wanna dive?”

Dwalin swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable. “Uh...well...my ama and adad told me not to,” he explained, flushing when Ryil raised an eyebrow dubiously.

“Why not?”

“...Just because.” Because he couldn’t swim well, they reminded him sternly. That was one of the few things he and his parents agreed about.

Ryil considered, and then nodded. “’Kay, that’s fine. You can look on the shore, and I’ll look in the water. How’s that?”

Dwalin nodded vigorously, relieved that his friend understood. “Alright.” Promptly he began kicking over rocks and studying their surfaces as Ryil removed his shoes and jumped in the water.

After about a half-hour Dwalin said disappointedly, “There’s nothin’ here.”

Ryil shook his head sadly from the water. “Nothing here eith—wait.” He paused, squinting at the cloudy water.

“What?”

Without a word Ryil dove below the surface, and then burst back up again, exclaiming excitedly, “Dwalin, look!”

The sun was fully up now, and by its strong light Dwalin could see the rock in Ryil’s hand glitter invitingly. “Is that what I think—?!” Dwalin shouted, practically jumping up and down.

“I think so!” Ryil cried back. “We’ll have to take it to a blacksmith or something to see if it’s real gold, but it sure looks like it!”

Dwalin beckoned. “C’mere, I’m a Dwarf. I know real gold when I see it.”

Ryil began to wade toward him, chattering all the way. “If it is, there’s likely to be some more down there! If we could fish it all out, we’d be rich! Wouldn’t that be swell—?”

He was gone.

Dwalin blinked, and then gaped at the place where his friend had been but a moment before. “Ryil?” He skidded a bit as he reached the edge of the river. “Ryil?” he repeated in confusion, staring hard at the surface of the water. Was this an attempt to dupe him?

Walking along the edge of the water, Dwalin called his friend’s name, several times. There was no answer but the rushing of the water.

After many long moments, Dwalin started to feel panic lodging itself into his throat. “Ryil!” he cried out again, his voice tremulous. Where was he?

All at once Dwalin saw a flash of pale, drenched skin, heard a strangled cry, and then Ryil was gone again beneath the surface. Before he knew what he was doing Dwalin was throwing off his coat and careening into the river, flapping wildly about in an attempt to follow his comrade.

When he caught up Dwalin clamped his hand around Ryil’s. Hauling the boy to the surface Dwalin hollered again. “Ryil, are you okay?!”

“It’s a fish trap,” Ryil coughed, choking up water. “It’s got my foot!”

“Put your arms around my neck!” Dwalin shouted. Then came the hard part; he was now thrashing against the current, trying to reach the shore, where they could get help. Dwalin was already exhausted, and Ryil’s weight was pulling him down.

Dwalin splashed violently, sending great gusts of water into the air. “Lose the fish trap!” he bellowed.

“I can’t!” Ryil cried in alarm. “It won’t come loose! _Dwalin!_ ” As he spoke the trap did the exact opposite, pulling taut with a lurch. The sudden jerk loosed Ryil’s hold around Dwalin’s neck, and he vanished.

“ _RYIL!!!_ ” Dwalin screamed.

Fundin, who had been on his way to check up on the lads, heard his son’s helpless terror and burst into the clearing, lunging into the water after him.

Dwalin fought as he was hauled onto the shore, screeching. “I have to help him! _I have to save him!_ ”

Fundin shook Dwalin, barking, “Listen to me!” When his son’s fear-stretched eyes met his, Fundin pursed his lips. “There’s...there’s nothing we can do now. He’s gone.”

Dwalin stared at his father in utter shock and horror. Then he shuddered, whimpering. Fundin pulled his youngest into his chest, rocking him back and forth like a toddler, and Dwalin was sobbing too hard to care, or even notice.

* * *

Dwalin’s yells were thunderous in the air as his barrel spun and twisted. He was constantly being dunked, the river slurping him in just as greedily as it had Ryil. Dwalin’s deep-set childhood fear of the water, Ryil's Water, threatened to smother him as he choked on mouthfuls of the river. Dwalin’s wet, heavy brown hair whipped his face like a horse’s tail as he spun around wildly in his barrel, looking for his comrades.

Each time his barrel somersaulted Dwalin felt the lurching sensation as the fish trap’s line pulled tight.

Each time a wave dashed him Dwalin felt Ryil’s arms slipping on his neck.

Each time the water’s roar became deafening Dwalin felt his ears ring with his friend’s last living cry.

The last word Ryil had spoken was his name.

His name.

As he vomited into the river Dwalin could hear Ryil’s scream. Again, and again, and again...

_“Dwalin!”_

_“Dwalin!”_

_“Dwalin!”_

He spun around in his barrel once more, and Dwalin could see two boys swimming before him in the river.

“Lose the fish trap!” one of them screamed, with Dwalin’s own voice.

“I can’t!” howled the other. “It won’t come loose! _Dwalin!_ ” Then the redheaded boy disappeared.

Dwalin leaned over the edge of his barrel, roaring, “ _NO!!!_ ” His repeated cries were lost as his barrel did a flip in the water, sending him upside down in the substance that had murdered his best friend.

The next thing he knew Dwalin was sprawled upon the base of a rocky beach. Wracking coughs shook his body as he crawled up the shore like a drenched rat. As the water slowly drained from his lungs Dwalin looked up—and found himself staring down the end of a Lake-Man’s longbow.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note, kid!Dwalin was thirty-one years old at the time, which in human years I would guesstimate is about thirteen or fourteen.
> 
> Thank you all for reading! If you like you can comment and critique my work.


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